Unfinished Business
by Night Owl Too
Summary: Spuffy sequel to Dear Departed. Set post Chosen and during AtS S5: You thought the series showed us everything that happened? Here’s a little “what if” set some time after the AtS ep, “The Girl in Question.” COMPLETE Continued in ficlet Second Verse.
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** Unfinished Business

**Author:** annapurna2 (aka, Night Owl Too)

**Pairing:** Spike/Buffy, Spike and Angel

**Rating:** M

**Summary:** What? You thought they showed us _everything_ that happened during AtS Season 5? Well, maybe they did and maybe they didn't. Here's a little "what if" set some time after "The Girl in Question."

**A/N:** Set post-Chosen and during AtS Season 5, this story is actually a companion piece to a very short vignette I wrote called "Dear Departed," which can also be found on this site. It isn't necessary to read it first, but it does serve as a set-up for this story and explains something that would otherwise go unanswered.

It was also my offering for Summer of Spike Season 2, which is currently underway at the Live Journal community. The story is complete, with six chapters total, but I have to do a little editing to lower it from NC-17 to an M rating before I can post all the chapters here. Should have it done by tomorrow night at the latest, if not sooner. Also, the final chapter count may change, depending on how much I have to edit out.

In the meantime, hope you enjoy the opening chapters.

* * *

CHAPTER ONE 

Angel was going to be right pissed off. Which, actually, didn't bother Spike at all. In fact, if he hadn't been so fond of the Viper himself, he might have totaled it intentionally, just to watch the big guy glower and grind his teeth as he ordered up yet another car for Spike's demon-fighting pleasure.

But that hadn't been part of the plan, and precious time was being lost while Spike regrouped.

Sodding Kraylok demons. How was a vamp supposed to know they would barricade the road with an 18-wheeler? Almost took off his bloody head when the car skidded beneath the refrigerated trailer.

Krayloks might be laughing now, but not for much longer. On the short trip up from the parking garage, he had reviewed his new plan. He'd breeze into Angel's office, demand another set of wheels, and be off again before the demon cartel could find a new location for its black market operation in human body parts. Then he'd wipe out the whole lot of 'em and still have time to down a few drinks at McClanahan's before turning in for the day.

He'd bloody loved that Viper.

The elevator pinged as the doors slid open, revealing the wide expanse of the Wolfram & Hart lobby in all its after-hours glory. In other words, deserted. But it was a good bet Angel would still be in his office, brooding over the latest "gray area" that filled the space between heroic do-gooding and corporate see-no-evil.

Though, come to think on it, there'd been considerably less brooding and a big increase in gray areas over the three days since he and Angel had returned from Rome.

Spike's response to the whole Italian disaster had been to throw himself – hook, line and new leather dusters – into fighting the good fight, eradicating demons at a head-spinning pace. Angel, on the other hand, had withdrawn, ignoring his former mission statement to "help the helpless" and instead turning all his attention to the business of running Wolfram & Hart. It was enough to make a souled vamp wonder.

Except when he had more important things to think about. Like grinding the head of a certain Kraylok ringleader beneath the heel of his unforgiving boot.

"Yo, Spike!"

The hail jerked him to a halt in mid-stride, and Spike swung around, his eyes searching out the source. He found it standing in the doorway of a nearby office – Gunn, looking more like the rough street-fighter he'd reportedly once been than the slick corporate attorney he'd paid so steep a price to become.

Motioning Spike over with a quick jerk of his head, Gunn disappeared into his office. Spike swallowed an impatient growl and altered his course, barreling through the open doorway at a fast clip.

"Look, whatever it is, can we make it quick? Got places to go and demons to skewer and the night's not gettin' any younger."

Instead of answering, Gunn closed the door and crossed the room, tossing something small and white onto the edge of his desk. Settling into his chair, he nodded at it. "It's a letter addressed to you care of Wolfram & Hart. Thought it might be important. I snagged it off of Harmony's desk when she wasn't looking. The girl seemed pretty set on delivering it personally, but I figured I'd do the honors." He paused, eyeing Spike with open amusement. "You can thank me later, Blondie Bear."

Paying no heed to the good-natured jibe, Spike frowned and cautiously approached the desk, staring suspiciously at the envelope. The way things had been going lately, it wouldn't surprise him a bit if the thing suddenly morphed into a flesh-eating Flaygon worm right before his very eyes. It would probably glom onto the nearest human head and then he'd have a bugger of a time getting it off without winding up with an oozing mass of half-digested Charlie on his hands. "Letter? Who sent it?"

Gunn shrugged. "Doesn't say. Guess you'll have to open it and find out."

Snorting, Spike shook his head and took a step backwards. "Not bloody likely, Charlie boy. No offense, but considering my track record with mysterious packages and unmarked envelopes, think I'll take a pass."

With a dismissive wave of his hand, he pivoted and strode toward the door. "Feel free to open it yourself, though," he tossed back over his shoulder. "If you don't mind winding up dead or worse. Or you could just chuck it in the circular file and tag along with me. We'll go Kraylok hunting and top off the evening gettin' blissfully snockered at McClanahan's."

"The postmark says it's from Rome."

Spike froze, hand halfway to the doorknob.

"If I remember right, you know one or two people there."

He somehow found his voice, though it wasn't as steady as he would have liked. "Know more than that, mate. Made quite a few new acquaintances while Angel and I were there."

"Any of them likely to write?"

Spike turned. Gunn was gazing at him with the best poker face he'd seen in a good two decades or so. "Depends," he allowed slowly, all the while fighting against a sudden wave of hope that burgeoned in his chest and threatened to jumpstart his heart. "Bird that runs the Italian branch took a bit of a fancy to me. Could be she—"

His throat closed abruptly, choking off the words. He stared straight ahead, jaw clenched tightly. He wouldn't give in to it. Not now. Not after he'd struggled so hard to let go.

Gunn scooped up a stack of files from his desk and walked over to him, liquid-brown eyes saying more than Spike wanted to hear. "The way I figure…either it's something really good or really bad. Seems like we don't get much of the in-between." Breaking eye contact, he glanced down at the folders he held in his hands. "I'm heading over to talk to Angel about some things. While I do that, why don't you find out who thinks you're worth the overseas postage?"

Seconds later, the door closed behind him. Spike was left frozen in the middle of the room, trapped under the weight of mingled hope and trepidation.

* * *

TBC in Part 2 


	2. Chapter 2

CHAPTER TWO

-----------------------------

Hours later, when he staggered into his apartment reeking of bad booze and way too many cigarettes, Angel was there waiting.

At first, there seemed to be two of him, but then Spike squinted and the wavering figures solidified into one. The older vampire was seated at the kitchen table, his face a steely mask of determination.

"_Sodding_ hell," Spike complained, making a valiant effort not to slur his words but with only minimal success. "Should'a known ol' Charlie couldn't keep his trap shut."

Angel looked back at him, gaze unwavering. "Harmony told me."

"Yeah?" Spike frowned, thinking about it, then shrugged. "Well…tha's all right then," he allowed. "To be expected, I s'pose."

Abandoning the doorway, he beat a more-or-less straight path to the cupboard where a half-empty bottle of Jack Daniels resided. Before he could retrieve it, Angel's voice stopped him.

"You gonna make me ask?"

Head canted to one side, Spike turned, fingers curling possessively around the crumpled letter he'd stuffed into his coat pocket. His answer was deliberately slow in coming.

"Think I might, yeah. 'S not that much I find entertainin' these days. Vamp's gotta take his pleasure where he can."

And there it was. A crack in the facade – a tiny tick in the old grandsire's clenched jaw. Not enough for anyone else to notice, but _he_ did. Spike felt a triumphant smirk coming on, and he didn't bother to hide it.

"Did she send for you?"

The question sounded like ground glass on gravel, and it cut just as hard.

Spike froze for an instant, then a crazed giggle bubbled up, releasing him. "Send for me?" he choked out, still chortling.

It wasn't really funny, of course – far from it. But it was either that or cry, which he buggering well wouldn't do in front of Angelus-lite, no matter how many sheets to the wind he was. Nevertheless, the full impact of the question abruptly slammed into him, and he realized with dismay that he was sobering up fast.

He laughed again, this time more softly. "Send for me," he repeated, shaking his head. "You daft bugger. You really think I'd be here now if she had?"

The faint hum of the refrigerator was his only answer. When Angel finally spoke again, his voice had lost its edge, though what replaced it didn't set very well with Spike. Understanding he could tolerate, just barely, considering everything they'd been through. But pity…

"You want to talk about it?"

"You want to get stuffed?" He glared dangerously, but the effect was ruined as the free hand he'd placed on the counter slipped, sending him tilting sideways before he found his balance again.

Right, then. Not _completely_ sober yet, and slurring that last bit hadn't been part of the plan. Still, bonus points for pithiness.

The great lummox sat there with a knowing look in his eyes that threatened to set Spike off if he didn't ignore it and fast. Deciding to take a pass on the Jack Daniels, he navigated his way over to the sofa instead. He could feel Angel's gaze follow him, but when he met his eyes again he found a weary resignation there that mirrored his own. It broke through his defenses more effectively than a thousand battering rams, draining him of all his piss and vinegar.

"Bloody hell." He sighed heavily, dropping onto the sofa with knees splayed wide and elbows out, a hand resting on each thigh. Maybe drowning his sorrows hadn't been such a brilliant move after all. His head was too muddled to think clearly.

"Just tell me…is she okay?"

Like now, for instance. He actually felt sorry for the wanker. Not as sorry as he felt for himself, but there was a faint ripple of empathy, much like Angel had shown him. They were a sad, pitiful piece of work, the pair of them.

Yeah. Moving on. Right.

"She's fine, far as I know." It pained him to share even that much, but Angel wouldn't budge until he got something and Spike wasn't in any shape to toss him out on his ear. He sighed again. "The letter wasn't … look, Dawn wrote it, all right? That's as much as you need to know, so just leave it."

More silence, then…

"Why a letter? She could have just picked up the phone."

"_Fuck!_" Spike wisely resisted the urge to leap up and throw something. The spirit was willing, but there was a better than even chance his advanced motor skills were taking a sabbatical. Instead, he leaned as far forward as he could without falling flat on his face.

"You really can't stand it, can you? That there's a part of Buffy's life…a part of _my_ life…that has nothing to do with you. Want to know everything. Want to be the big man. You've got your bloody nerve, you have! The Bit wasn't important enough for you to bother with before. It's too late to show an interest now. Should have paid her some mind when you had the chance and then _maybe_ this would actually _be_ your bloody buggering business! Which it's _not_."

Angel glowered back at him. "I didn't get close because it wouldn't have been safe for her. She was a kid, Spike!"

"No, she was a _key_, Peaches. And just because it was all made up, don't think that lets you off the hook." Spike aimed an accusing finger at him. "Reckon the monks knew how it would have been when they fixed things the way they did. Knew you'd have no use for her. Oh, you thought she was real enough, even when she wasn't, but you didn't treat her that way, did you? Not once the whole time!"

He looked away, suddenly overwhelmed by past memories that surged up to engulf him in a wave of bittersweet nostalgia. He barely noticed as his voice fell to a soft murmur. "That's just one more difference between us. She was always real to me. Never knew her when she wasn't." When he glanced up again he found Angel staring at him, totally at sea.

"What the hell are you babbling about?"

Spike blinked and cleared his throat as he shrugged, trying to hide the fact he'd just given away a bit more than he should have. If Angel didn't know the truth about Dawn, it wasn't his business to enlighten him. "Not babblin'. Just sayin'."

"Saying what? That you've lost what little mind you ever had? Hate to break it to you, Spike, but I already knew that. It's this 'key' business and the whole 'monks' thing I don't get."

"Well, ain't that a shame. Looks like you're out of luck then, 'cause guess what? I'm not feelin' so chatty anymore." He sniffed defiantly.

"Damn it, Spike! Just tell me what all this has to do with Buffy!"

For what seemed like a mini eon, the tension in the room flared and the air crackled angrily between them. But it slowly dissipated as Spike slumped back against the sofa cushions, chin on his chest as he glumly contemplated his belt buckle. "Nothing, you git," he muttered truculently. "Told you, Dawn sent the letter."

Then his gaze rose, reluctantly meeting Angel's head on. "Only…she didn't, you see…since I'm dead and gone forever and she never meant for me to read it. It was that prat, Andrew. He tricked her into writing it then sent it to me. Stickin' his pointy Watcher-wannabe nose into things that don't concern him. Should've just left it alone. Things were right where they needed to be. No more than I deserve," he added softly.

Angel rolled his eyes at the ceiling. "And he's babbling again."

Spike scowled. "Am not."

Angel studied him. "Something's got you all worked up, even more than usual, and it started with that letter. If it's not Buffy, then…" Trailing off, he shook his head. "I can't believe I'm about to say this, but…whatever it is, maybe it would help if you talked about it. I mean…I'm already here." He shrugged awkwardly. "I could…you know…listen."

Spike stared.

"Look, I won't use it against you or anything, okay? I'm just offering because…oh, hell, I don't know _why_ I'm offering. But I am." Looking at Spike, he waited.

Spike blinked.

Angel's jaw tightened. "Fine. Forget I asked." Surging to his feet, he glowered down at Spike. "You want to wallow in it? Don't let me get in your way." Three steps and he was at the door, yanking it open with a strange savageness Spike wouldn't have expected.

"She hates me."

Halting, Angel turned his head. "Buffy?"

Spike glared silently, and Angel corrected himself. "Dawn."

He didn't bother to nod. "But she loves me, too. Still. Doesn't want to…doesn't think she should. And she'd be right about that. But she couldn't have written what she did if the feelings were all gone."

Angel's face darkened ominously. "What exactly does that mean? She 'loves' you? Are you telling me—?"

"What?" Spike frowned then realized what Angel had assumed. "_No!_ You daft git, it was nothin' like that!" He spat out the words, furious and appalled at the implication. Back in the day such a prospect wouldn't have bothered him at all, but he'd been a different creature then. Even before the soul he'd changed enough that, in all their time together and for all Dawn's misguided hero worship, it had never once crossed his mind to take advantage.

Angel closed the door, moving back to his seat at the table. He eyed Spike warily. "So you two were close?"

"Once upon a time…yeah." His eyes closed – god, he was suddenly so very tired – and opened again to find Angel's unwavering gaze still focused on his face. "Until I went an' bollixed it all up."

"Now there's a shocker." Angel snorted softly, but there was a surprising lack of malice behind the words. "What happened?"

At first, Spike didn't reply. Even though he'd asked, one look at him told Spike that Angel didn't expect an answer. Instead, he waited for the patented sneer, the trademark posturing, the caustic "bugger off and mind your own bloody business" response he'd heard so many times before. Angel was dead certain Spike would never trust him with a truth that painful.

So he did.

Not the whole story. One memory was too raw, too shameful, despite the time that had passed and everything that had happened in between.

Besides, Angel would almost certainly tear his head off – an idea that Spike, still slightly drunk and marginally maudlin, found just a little too appealing at the moment. The way he felt, he wasn't sure he'd even put up a fight, and that was something he wouldn't risk. If he'd wanted the easy way out, he would have taken it two years ago.

"So this thing you did that made Dawn hate you…that you won't tell me about…is that why you changed your mind a while back about going to find Buffy?" Angel asked.

"No, had nothing to do with that. Buffy and I…it was something we'd got past. But the Bit and me…we never worked it out." His voice deepened with regret. "Just one more thing I could have done better."

Then, remembering where he was and who was listening, Spike stiffened. "Could've done worse, too," he added. "Like leavin' for good when things got too messy. Didn't do _that_, did I?" He looked pointedly at Angel.

Spike could have cut diamonds on Angel's expression. "I didn't –" Face grim, he broke off. "Look…I'm not getting into this with you. This isn't a competition to see which one of us screwed up the most."

And all of a sudden Spike was on his feet. "_The bloody, buggering hell it isn't!_"

His strident yell shocked even himself. It was a desperate, outraged cry that revealed just how close to the edge he really was. He hadn't even realized it until that moment. But just as quickly, the hot wave of anguish and rage receded, leaving him shaken and completely drained.

Collapsing against the cushions, he let his head fall back to stare blindly up at the ceiling. Chaotic thoughts chased each other through his mind, none of them good, and a sea of conflicting emotions surged in his chest, regret foremost among them. But when he finally spoke again, the only emotion coloring his voice was resignation.

"Was me she had, and you she wanted. Was always you. Never could admit it, but it's true. I see that now. Accept it, too." A harsh laugh escaped. "Still makes me want to heave, thinkin' of her forever mooning over a big, stupid git like you."

He frowned then as an even more disturbing thought surfaced. "Only…she's not anymore, is she? Now she's gone and got herself a new honey. Forgotten both of us. Like we'd never been." Straightening, he raised his chin defiantly. "But at least I tried. Made plenty of mistakes, but I bloody well didn't give up.

"Until now," he amended, his tone turning morose. "Only…it's not really giving up, is it now? It's more like what Andrew was sayin'…moving on."

A rude snort interrupted Spike's musing, eliciting a frown. Bloody typical. Here he was having a major epiphany and Angel couldn't even show the proper respect.

"C'mon, Spike, you expect me to buy that? You never walk away from _anything_ you want. You just keep hammering away until you get it, or you keep ramming your head into the same brick wall. Either way, you don't give up."

"My point exactly, yeah? I'm not like you. Don't get all boo-hoo and broody every time things aren't going my way."

"Right." Angel's voice was dry. "That's why when Dru dumped you, you took it like a man. You could have gone crawling back to Sunnydale all drunk and weepy with some pathetic plan to magic her into taking you back, but…Oh, wait. Come to think of it, that's _exactly_ what you did."

Turning his head, Spike sent him a death glare. Or what would have been a death glare if he could only focus properly. "What I'm _getting_ at…is that things have changed. _I've_ changed, as you've damn well noticed, and I don't mean just this Champion gig. I still want Buffy. Still love her…more now than ever. And I know she cared, in her own way, there towards the end. But I've finally figured out that loving and wanting isn't enough. Sometimes…no matter how much it hurts…you have to let go."

His hand lifted, heading off the pending protest. "And before you start blathering on about figuring that out a long time ago and that's why you took off when you did, it's not the same thing. You left, but you never let go, and you sure as hell didn't like it when she tried to let go of you. Your leavin' was all about Buffy, not because you had some big, important destiny waiting for you somewhere else. That didn't come till later, did it? And even then…"

Trailing off, he let a weary sigh escape. "Face it, Angel. We screwed up, the both of us. You by leaving the way you did, and me by stayin' too long. 'Cause the truth is, it wasn't until I wound up here that I really understood what it could be like. Bein' my own man. Doing something for the right reasons, and _only_ for the right reasons. Never had that before. Never knew how much it could mean. Much as I love her, much as I miss her…and I do…god, how I do…part of me knows I'd miss all this even more. And I know it couldn't have happened if I'd gone to her all those months ago – been with her, the way I wanted to be."

He shrugged, a careless gesture totally at odds with the impact of this revelation. "So I reckon if that's how it had to be, then I'm okay with it."

A strained silence followed that pronouncement and, for once, Spike hadn't a buggering clue what was going on inside Angel's head. Something told him it might be better that way.

When Angel finally responded, his tone was mildly curious. "If you're really so okay, why are you sitting there looking like a kicked puppy?"

Spike looked away. "Because it hurts like a bloody sonofabitch."

Neither said anything for a time, but when Spike met his gaze again Angel slowly nodded. "Yeah. It does." He rose from his chair. "You do realize you contradicted yourself at least six different times during that whole speech, right? Still…there might have been a valid point or two." The scowl reappeared. "But _only_ one or two."

Spike watched him move to the door then stop, hand resting on the doorknob as he looked back. "For what it's worth, it gets easier. You may not stop wanting, but you learn to live with it. And you find other things…people who matter…to fill the empty space."

Their gazes met and held in a brief synergy of understanding. Then, before he could blink, Angel was gone.

* * *

The knock on the door caught him off guard. Partly because he was still basking in the glow of his unexpected success at the poetry slam and hadn't been as aware of his surroundings as he should have been. But mostly because, in Spike's experience, people who called on him usually didn't feel the need to knock.

Wesley and Gunn had once, but what with the end of the world looming and all – at least as far as their merry band was concerned, once they succeeded in taking out the Circle of the Black Thorn – Spike hardly expected them to stand on ceremony.

It was too soon for Percy and Her Royal Blueness to have returned from the mysterious last-minute errand they'd decided to run, and from the sound of the rapid heartbeat on the other side of the door, he knew it couldn't be Angel. Must be Gunn, then, or possibly Lorne, which meant he wasn't the only one who'd finished his special day a little ahead of schedule.

He just hoped that, whatever Charlie boy and Kermit had chosen to do, it had worked out okay for them. They'd proven themselves friends of a sort these last few weeks, and Spike figured they'd earned some degree of happiness in what could easily be their final hours.

_His_ final hours.

The knock sounded again, louder and less tentative than before.

"Yeah, hang on!" he called, crossing the room. "A tad eager, aren't you, mate? Got at least a couple of hours before we put our heads on the chopping block. Don't tell me you've got a bloody death wish…"

The words died on his lips as he yanked open the door and found Buffy staring back at him, eyes luminous above the barest hint of a wry smile. "Can't say I do, actually. Been there, done that, not especially keen to repeat it just yet."

Then the smile faltered, her heart beating more loudly in his ears as her voice dropped to a breathy whisper. "Hey. Long time, no see."

* * *

TBC in Part 3 


	3. Chapter 3

CHAPTER THREE

-----------------------------

Spike stared at the vision in front of him, knowing full well she wasn't real. Bloody well didn't matter that his senses seemed to tell him otherwise. But while his shell-shocked brain struggled to produce some kind of coherent thought, his body responded to a simple, more primal instinct.

Only her swift reflexes stopped him from slamming the door in her face.

Of course, Buffy – this dream Buffy of his – didn't seem to realize she was a figment of his imagination. She even had the audacity to raise an eyebrow as she stood there, palms flat against the door. A hint of the wry smile returned. "Strangely enough, not the reaction I was going for." Despite the teasing words, her eyes were locked on his, huge and expressive and totally at odds with her tone. "Can I come in anyway?"

He must have said something in response, but he didn't know what. His mind was racing too fast for sound to keep up, and he felt the strangest buzzing sensation in his head. By the time the world caught up with him again, she was standing in the middle of his apartment looking fit and tan and indescribably beautiful. A small duffel bag rested on the floor next to her feet. Spike faced her, his back now pressed against the closed door.

As he watched wordlessly, her eyes traveled slowly around the room, lingering a bit on the small kitchen area, the ratty sofa, and the poorly made bed. When she looked at him again, the warmth in her eyes had vanished and her lips formed a hard line. He instantly flashed back to General Buffy calling for the old Spike to make his presence known, and that threw him for a loop all over again.

"So. Did they leave out the slayer radar when they brought you back," she asked in a flat voice, "or are you just getting sloppy in your second unlife?"

It seemed like forever before he got the word out. "What?"

She folded her arms. "The door? You didn't know it was me. That's…not like you."

He swallowed hard. "Buffy…"

"But then you've been doing a lot of things these days that aren't like you." Her voice could have frozen a volcano. "Pretending to be dead when you're really _not_, for example."

She was angry with him. Okay. Familiar ground. He could work with that. He cleared his throat. "Actually, pet…"

"Don't. You. Dare." She ground out the words. "Don't you _dare_ turn this into a joke."

The very tangible pain in her face brought him up short, capturing his attention more effectively than a fist to his nose ever had. It also had a strange calming effect on him. Straightening, he pushed off from the door but moved no closer. "Wasn't going to, Buffy," he said quietly. "Was just gonna say there was no pretending to it. I was gone, and then I was back. You know how it happened, right?" He stopped, head tilting. "Who was it told you?"

She glared at him. "Who do you think?"

He grimaced. "Andrew." Taking her silence as confirmation, he nodded. "Truth is, it surprises me a bit. I never expected he'd hold out, but after seein' him in Rome, figured maybe I was wrong."

Something flickered in her eyes and she raised her chin. "He wanted to come. I wouldn't let him. I thought he might get in the way of my staking you."

Spike couldn't help it. He had to smile. "Little angry, are we?"

"Oh, yeah."

"Handling it well…all things considered."

"Lucky for you, it was a long flight. I lost track of how many times I dusted you in my head, and I got plenty of extra points for creativity. But it's out of my system now. Maybe." Her stony expression softened ever so slightly, though it could have been wishful thinking on his part. "Dawn wanted to come, too, but I asked her to wait. She has school to think about, and…I wanted to see you on my own first."

The mention of Dawn reminded Spike of the letter and a lump formed in his throat. He nodded. "Just as well, I expect. Not sure I'm up to takin' on the both of you right now."

Again, something flickered in her eyes. Was it…hurt? Confusion? Maybe a little of both.

"You really are going to make me ask, aren't you? Okay, then…why, Spike? Why did I have to find out from _Andrew_ that you were back and living in LA? That you weren't a pile of _ashes_ buried at the bottom of the hellmouth? So, what…did you catch amnesia and forget how to mail a postcard or use a telephone?"

"Develop."

"What?"

"Develop amnesia. Can't catch it. It's not contagious like the flu or somethin'."

She gaped at him. Then her mouth snapped shut and her eyes narrowed dangerously. He could see storm clouds brewing on the Buffy horizon. "Coward." She spat out the word.

He blinked. "What?"

"You heard me. Big fat vampire coward."

His head tilted. "You trying to start a fight?"

She lifted her chin. "Just making an observation. I find out you're alive, I catch the first plane out here, I track you down, then when I ask for a simple explanation, all you want to do is dodge the question. I think you're afraid. An itty bitty 'fraidy cat."

The initial shock of Buffy's unexpected appearance had started to wear off and Spike was regaining his equilibrium. He gazed at her solemnly, fighting back a smile. "Right. See, now I'm confused. Are you sayin' I'm big and fat or itty and bitty? Cause either one, I'm takin' issue with."

"You didn't tell me. You _knew_ what I – " She broke off, her small yet oh-so-lethal fists clenched in wordless impotence.

"You want something to drink?" It was blurted out, and he wasn't sure where the impulse had come from, but it seemed only polite to offer. Judging by the look on Buffy's face, he wasn't the only one thrown off kilter by his strange gesture.

The nagging need to be in motion finally overcame his sense of self-preservation, driving him forward before she could recover. Giving his pissed-off love a wide berth, Spike moved to the refrigerator and yanked open the door, stooping to peer inside as he hid from her disbelieving stare.

"Let's see. I've got beer and…beer. Oh, and…there's tap water, too. Wouldn't recommend it. The pipes, you know."

He ventured a peek and found her standing with hands on hips, her face a strange mix of emotions. Finally, she shook her head. "I'll risk the water. But it better be a clean glass or I'll reconsider the not staking you."

By the time he had the glass filled, she'd settled onto the couch, her jean-clad legs crossed and her arms folded over her chest. She watched his approach, her expression as closed-off as the rest of her. Eyes riveted to his face, she accepted the water but remained silent.

"I didn't tell you because…" He trailed off, suddenly feeling as drained as the main course in an all-you-can-eat vampire buffet. He shook his head. "Bloody hell. Look, we can dance around this for hours, neither one of us wanting to say it, but the truth is I knew there wasn't a place for me in your life anymore. What we had…whatever it was…it was done. Finished. Me hangin' around trying to hold on wouldn't have helped either one of us. Would've hurt us both in the end, trying to make like I could ever fit in. It's different here. There are things that need doing and people who think I'm the one to do them. People who…accept me. A little."

She hadn't moved since he'd started speaking and Spike found himself wondering if he could really do this. Was he setting things right, or making a mistake? Either way, he was in it now. Nothing to do but plow ahead.

Pacing a few steps away, he stopped and turned to face her head on. "And, yeah, I know I should have told you, but I couldn't stand to hear that you'd moved on. Or worse…that you'd pretend you hadn't. That you'd ask me to stay not because you really wanted me there, but because I didn't have anywhere else to go.

"And it was more, too. If I'd done that…if I'd faced up to it then…it would have meant letting go of that last little bit of you. For real, this time. Not because you jumped off a tower and not because I had a date with destiny, but because bloody Rupert was right. There's no future for us. We weren't meant to be. I wasn't ready to see that. Not then."

"But you are now." It wasn't a question, so Spike didn't bother answering it. Instead, he kept his gaze fixed on the floor. He didn't want to see the accusation in her eyes, or worse yet, the pity. "Those last weeks in Sunnydale…used to think about what it could have been like. If I'd done things differently. If I'd changed sooner. If it had been me that made it to Sunnydale before Angel."

He glanced up. "If you hadn't met him first."

Spike watched as Buffy unfolded from the sofa with unconscious grace, crossing to the table where she deposited her untouched glass. As she moved, he circled around, warily keeping his distance. Their impromptu _pas de deux_ brought him back to his original position in front of the couch, where he waited, trying to read her intent in the taut lines of her back.

When she faced him again, her gaze was steady. "If it had happened any differently at least one of us wouldn't be here. In a permanently not-here kind of way."

Spike nodded slightly. "Reckon not," he allowed. "But that's what it all comes down to, isn't it?" At her questioning look, he shrugged, equal parts sad and wistful. "Was a time, if I saw something I wanted, just took it. Didn't let anything stand in my way. People say you can't always have what you want just because you want it, but I never believed it." He snorted softly. "Hell, Angelus tried every way he knew to beat it into me, but I was a stubborn pillock. Then you came along.

"How many times did you tell me, eh? That I was convenient. That you could never love me. That there was only one vampire in the world for you, and I wasn't him. I heard it, but I didn't believe. Always been hardheaded." He summoned up a faint smile. "Lucky for you, though…not so much anymore."

The silence hung heavy in the air between them, like an invisible barrier. It was broken only by the grinding hum of the old refrigerator and the steady drip of water from the faucet he'd failed to shut off properly.

Just when he felt on the verge of exploding, Buffy stirred. Eyes locked with his, she approached with slow, deliberate steps.

His breath caught in his throat, time coalescing into an excruciating suspension of past and present. Then gentle fingers called him back, tracing a feather-light path across his cheek, drifting down his neck and across his shoulder before finally coming to rest over his heart.

"I'm so sorry."

And he had to let go. For real and forever, even as his heart shattered.

* * *

TBC in Part 4 


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:** This chapter contains adult content (sexual situations).

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CHAPTER FOUR

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The moment Spike had fought so long and hard against had finally arrived. The warmth of her gaze and the open tenderness in her face made it surprisingly easy and unbearably hard, all at the same time.

He covered her hand with his own. "Not your fault. Can't help who you love." He tried to smile. "Or don't."

A tiny crease marred her brow. "What…are we talking about, exactly?"

"About this. About us. About lovin' who you love." Gazing intently into her upturned face, he took a deep breath. "Look, Buffy, what I said about not always getting what you want? Sometimes…maybe you do." His voice hardened with resolve as he forced out the words. "There's something you need to know."

Pulling her hand from his, Buffy assumed the crossed-arms position again, seemingly puzzled but willing to wait. He hesitated, trying to suss out in his mind the best way to tell her about the Shanshu prophecy.

"Ah…there's this thing."

Buffy arched an eyebrow. "Really. A thing?"

"Yeah. With Angel."

Her eyes widened. "With Angel?" she echoed.

He replayed what he'd just said. Bugger.

"No. No, not…That's not what I meant. There's this prophecy thing called a…a Shanshu. Not real clear on the details. Somethin' about a vampire with a soul having a leading role in the apocalypse."

"Which one?"

He blinked. "Vampire?"

She shook her head. "Apocalypse. I'm starting to lose track."

"Oh." He shrugged. "Yeah, well…that's one of the unanswered questions, isn't it? Supposed to be the big one, I guess."

Buffy nodded sagely. "The apocalypse to end all…" She tilted her head, brow crinkling. "What exactly _is_ the plural of apocalypse, anyway?"

His nobility train momentarily derailed, Spike frowned. "Not really sure. I don't think Webster's expected more than the one." He shook his head. "The point is, the vampire with a soul goes around fighting evil and savin' the world, and when all is said and done, he maybe gets to be human. And there's reason to believe it might be sooner than later."

Several seconds ticked by before she said anything.

"You think it might be you?"

He met her gaze. "No," he breathed softly, regretfully. Then he jerked and snorted. "God, no. Wondered for a while. Wanted it even. But…no. It belongs to Angel."

"What makes you so sure?"

He wondered what she was thinking. He couldn't tell, and it felt completely wrong to him. He'd always been able to read her, except for those dark days between them, when he'd deliberately chosen not to because he hadn't wanted to see how lost she'd really been. But she'd changed over the last year, and he found himself wishing wistfully for the chance to learn her all over again.

But that could never happen now, and she was waiting for an answer.

He shrugged. "Dunno. Just am."

It took him by surprise when she moved with slayer speed, catching his face in her hands before he had any inkling what she was about.

"Why are you telling me this?"

He wanted to turn away but the intensity of her gaze held him captive. So he met it head on, the final wall between them toppling as he let her see. "You know why, Buffy."

And he could tell that she did. It was his gift to her – the chance to be with Angel. He was offering her hope that there could finally be a future for them, if she wanted. And of course, she did. Knew that, didn't he? Had always known, even when he'd pretended otherwise, but it didn't make it any easier to bear.

He stood there, waiting for the dawning light of comprehension in her eyes, a sweet joy of realization too painful to look upon. But it never came. Instead, she stared at him for the longest moment of any life he'd had thus far, then with a slight shake of her head, placed both hands squarely on his chest and shoved.

Not hard, not with Slayer strength – just enough to send him tumbling backwards onto the couch, legs slightly apart, arms spread wide to catch himself. It was sudden and unexpected, and he couldn't think how to react. He could only gape at her as she followed him down, climbing onto his lap, settling in, straddling him with knees pushed deep into the cushions, like the last piece of a puzzle sliding into place.

He was instantly, uncontrollably hard.

She leaned into him, lips almost touching his as the warm juncture between her thighs threatened to send him up in a fiery blaze. Small fingers began combing through his hair, caressing and tugging, ruthlessly teasing his slicked-back style into a tousled mess, but the desecration barely registered. His shell-shocked brain could process nothing beyond the delicious feel of her snuggled against the rock-hard bulge in his pants.

In the history of this or any other world, there had never been a more perfect fit.

"You're such a doofus, you know that? Stupid, idiotic, totally clueless…" she recited sternly, but her eyes shimmered with unshed tears and her voice ached with tender sorrow. As she touched her lips to his, the slight contact sent an electric jolt zinging through every nerve in his body. She smiled knowingly and did it again. Once, twice…

The third time he met her full on, hands clutching at her hips, mouth opening wide, his tongue tangling with hers in a mad rush of heat and honey and dizzying hunger. Then her hands were on his face, calming fingers caressing the sharp planes of his cheeks as she whispered soothing words against his lips.

"Shhh…it's okay. It's okay now. We have time. Spike…"

And just like that, he wanted to cry. To sit there and blubber like a right prat. Her voice was tender and caring, so full of love. Everything he'd always longed for but never expected to have.

A butterfly kiss landed on his brow and lingered there, caressing his old scar. He could have lost himself forever in the warmth of her gaze but his eyelids rebelled, drifting shut as she kissed first one then the other into submission before moving on, lips peppering his face with tender tokens of her esteem. In between kisses, she whispered things. Beautiful, wondrous things he'd never thought to hear. How precious he was to her. How deeply she'd missed him. How she'd lain awake so many nights thinking of all the things she should have said to him when she'd had the chance. All the things she could say now.

It had to be a dream, of course. He'd thought as much when he'd opened the door to find her standing there. Just the latest in a line of sleep-induced fantasies playing out in his head on a near-nightly basis. Never real, never lasting. Each time, he awakened to a barren room, a lonely bed. Each time, he lost her all over again.

And so he denied the tangible warmth of her embrace even as he relished it. Hope was something he'd left behind, abandoned in a tiny Italian flat. By admitting as much to Angel, he'd finally taken the first steps down a path of his own making. Not out of fear, or uncertainty, or desperation, but because his subconscious had recognized what his heart refused to accept.

It wasn't all about Buffy. Not anymore.

He'd meant it when he had said he'd finally let go. It wasn't because he didn't love her or want to be with her. He had simply accepted that their lives were no longer entwined. He had his own purpose now, similar to but separate from hers, with paths that ran parallel but were never again destined to cross. And he'd been okay with that. Mostly.

But, oh, how he still yearned.

As if responding to that silent plea, her small hand worked its way down between them, setting up a steady rubbing against the front of his denim jeans. He shuddered hard, and the nature of their kisses altered once more, soft and sweet giving way to deep and demanding. Mouths widened, tongues clashed, hands grasped desperately.

With a ripping sound, his torso was bared, the tattered remnants of the black t-shirt clinging to his biceps. Warm, hungry hands frantically roamed his chest then slid to his waist, popping the button on his jeans.

Her mouth tore free of his ravaging lips and she rested her forehead against his.

"Spike…please. I need you to touch me."

He wanted to be slow and tender. Wanted to lie between her legs – to bury his nose deep in musky curls, bury his tongue even deeper. Wanted to worship her for hours. Wanted to lick and thrust and drive her past the brink over and over and over until she lay helpless and quivering in the throes of one perfect, endless orgasm.

But he couldn't.

Her breathless words unleashed something inside him, and the tight control he'd maintained since that terrible night in the bathroom snapped beneath the force of her need. He'd been granted the right to take her, to make her truly his.

The silky bit of a top she wore vanished, baring her breasts to his ravenous mouth. With hands splayed across her back, he arched her hard into his kisses, alternately sucking and pulling in rough abandon then opening wide to take her in. In his single-minded devotion, he licked and nibbled and blew on one swollen nipple until a half-choked cry and insistent tugging at his hair forced him to relinquish it in favor of the other nub, achingly erect and begging for attention.

The urgent little sounds she made as he suckled lit a fire deep in his belly, sending a harsh growl rumbling through his chest. He surged upward, flipping her around, dumping her onto the cushions, the surprise in her eyes barely registering before he bent to his task. Her boots went flying then he yanked her pants down, disposing of them just as haphazardly. Crouching above her, his fingers slid beneath the tiny scrap of red silk, the last bit of fabric shielding her from his gaze, and twisted. She made no move to help or hinder, just stared up at him with dark, smoky eyes, lips parted, chest heaving. Another savage pull and the panties tore free, leaving her completely exposed.

For the fraction of a second it took to cover her body with his.

His mouth captured hers in a frenzy of need as she squirmed beneath him, nails digging hard into his back. Then, somehow their positions reversed and she was on top, writhing and panting as she rubbed herself against him. Sitting up, she grabbed his hands and pulled them to her breasts, holding them there as she undulated faster and harder. He could feel the searing heat of her even through his thick denim jeans.

That didn't last long either. Arms snaking around her, he swiveled to a kneeling position, then rose from the floor with Buffy wrapped around him like a drowning woman clinging to a life raft. Through it all, she hadn't missed a beat, humping and grinding, her heart pounding so hard he could feel it deep in his aching groin. Hands cupped around her ass, he staggered toward the bed. But he must have moved in the wrong direction because suddenly they were at the kitchen counter and the need in him was so strong there was nothing to do but deposit her there and drop to his knees, face pushing its way between her legs as eager thighs spread wide to welcome him.

Her head jerked back, thudding into the cabinet behind her. She gasped at the impact, or maybe his tongue diving into her, but he didn't pause to find out. His senses were reeling from the sharp, tangy taste of her and the sweet, musky scent surrounding him. He wrapped his hands around her thighs and pulled her to him, worshipping her in earnest. Mouth hard and wide against her – licking, thrusting, teasing ruthlessly, his nose bumping her gloriously sensitive nub with each frenzied movement of his head.

Buffy's hands were flat against the counter, bracing her angled body. He glanced up as he worked, watching her lovely breasts bounce with each shuddering breath, head rolling back and forth against the cabinet door. She strained against his mouth, quivering legs locked around his neck, the iron grip of her thighs holding him in place.

As if she needed to. Nothing in this world or any other could make him abandon his intimate feast. In fact, he wanted more.

Sliding his hands down to her knees, he tried lifting them from his shoulders but Buffy instantly whined in protest and tightened her grip. With considerable force of will, he resisted silent plea, pulling back as much as her headlock allowed. His voice was low and ragged as he half-ordered, half-begged her compliance.

"Buffy, love…spread your legs for me." The light kiss he placed on her sweet, wet cunny made her hips jerk, and she moaned even louder. "There's my darling girl. Open yourself up now. Won't regret it. Make you feel so good, I will."

Her legs trembled but she did as he asked, unlocking her ankles to spread herself wide. Taking a heel in each of his hands, he positioned her feet on the counter, forcing her knees up and out, leaving her soft, pink center utterly exposed. When he glanced up, she was staring down at him, lips parted, eyes heavy with desire and need.

And for a second time, his resolve to take it slowly vanished in a heartbeat.

She cried out as he dove back in, fingers clutching at his head, tangling in his hair, holding him close as his mouth possessed and devoured her. Sliding his palms down, he cupped her buttocks and lifted her up, angling his tongue to penetrate deeper still. He explored her thoroughly, tasting the velvety depths, before withdrawing to cover her with broad licks along her entire length. As he alternated between teasing tickles and short thrusts, he could feel the tension coiling inside her, slowly building to that explosive, all-encompassing moment.

Fastening on the tender nub nestled among the curls, he sucked and tongued her with a ruthless determination that sent her careening right over the edge. She screamed, hips bucking wildly, and his head was caught in the vise-like grip of her thighs as they slammed shut. She rode out the wave in great, quaking shudders, mewling softly while he lapped up her juices like a starving jungle cat and thanked his lucky stars that he didn't need to breath.

Before he could get his bearings, she was already yanking him up by the hair, her mouth smashing against his in a searing kiss as strong legs wrapped around his waist. Bypassing his fly for the moment, her hand plunged deep inside his jeans and started to tug – stroking, and squeezing, and kneading before bringing up her other hand to battle with his zipper. Spike groaned and took the hint, quickly scooping her up from the counter as he made for the bed.

But again he went in the wrong direction, this time crashing into the kitchen table. At the same instant, the stubborn zipper parted and Buffy laughed, losing no time claiming her prize. Spike's eyes rolled back in his head as he swiftly decided one flat surface was as good as the next, instantly abandoning his hunt for the bed.

Kicking a chair out of the way, he dropped his armful of Buffy onto the tabletop, ignoring the soft "oof" she uttered as her back made contact with the cold surface. Shoving his pants down his legs, he viciously kicked free of boots and denim, at the same time shedding the tattered remnants of his t-shirt.

She barely had time to spread her legs before he was on her, plunging inside with a powerful thrust that made the table shake and the legs scrape across the floor. She rose to meet him, arms latching fiercely around him, holding on for life and sanity as she matched him thrust for thrust.

The words he hadn't been able to say when his mouth had been otherwise occupied now tumbled forth.

"God…you feel so good, love. Missed you so much. You make me so bloody hard. Do you feel me? Do you feel me now…lovin' you? Fillin' up every bit of you there is?"

"I feel you, Spike. It feels so good…so right. Don't stop. _Please_, don't stop."

"Shhhh…won't stop now. Keep doin' you till you can't see straight. See to you good and proper, I will. Still yours…and you're mine now, yeah?" Blunt teeth fastening on the side of her neck, he bore down gently as she arched into the bite.

"Oh, _yes_!" Her fingers tightened convulsively, nails digging into his biceps. "Yours. All yours. No one else's. Just you. Always you. Forever now."

His rhythm faltered briefly, but she didn't appear to notice, and he recovered himself, the piston-like movement of his hips working even harder than before.

With each powerful thrust, he buried himself so deep inside her he almost saw stars. He could feel the tension coiling inside him and a matching tightness inside her. He growled low in her ear. "Come for me, sweet girl. Wanna see you come. Wanna hear you scream. Let go now. Do it for me," he commanded, eyes locked with hers.

She did.

And so did he.

A long, drawn-out groan escaped him, and he buried his face against her neck. He let the shudder take him over, spreading through his chest, cascading down his spine, bursting from his groin. His breath hitched on a sob as he poured himself into her – his love, his heart, his very soul.

The harsh sound of their ragged breathing was loud in the small apartment. Utterly spent, he lay sprawled atop her, resting in the loose circle of her warm embrace. When she stirred slightly, he lifted himself off, bracing his arms on either side of her head to hold the bulk of his weight as he gazed into her eyes.

A sultry smile curved her lips. "More, please?" she whispered.

And just like that, he was desperate to have her again.

This time, they made it to the bed.

-----------------------------

TBC in Part 5


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N:** This chapter contains adult content (sexual situations).

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CHAPTER FIVE

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She reached down, fondling and stroking him, coaxing him back to life.

Not that it took much effort on her part.

He lifted his head from the pillow, gazing at her quizzically.

She grinned. "My turn."

He raised an eyebrow. "Yeah?"

"Yep," she confirmed, a wicked gleam in her eye.

He met it with a smirk of his own. "Well, then. Best get to it."

"I will. As soon as you turn over."

"What?"

"You heard me. Turn. Over. Now."

She didn't have to order him twice. Okay, three times. He obediently flipped over onto his stomach.

She placed her lips to his ear. "Now get that sweet bum of yours in the air."

"What?"

She blew out an exasperated sigh. "Spike!"

His ass shot up and his knees spread apart at her silent urging, muscles quivering in anticipation as she ran her hands lightly across his flanks. Then, before he could even get acclimated, she was sliding between his legs, head strategically positioned just below a very aroused, very impatient part of his anatomy.

He lifted his chest a bit to get a better view of the action to come and shivered as he saw her little pink tongue peeking out between her lips. Her head craned upwards, mouth opening wide…then stopped.

"And Spike?"

"Yeah?" His voice was hoarse.

"Don't move a single muscle until I say you can." Then flashing him a wicked grin, she went to work like a hungry woman with a double chocolate mint ice cream cone.

He groaned long and loud and pretty much non-stop.

-------------------------

"You still love me," she told him solemnly, one questing finger tracing an aimless pattern across his chest. "I wasn't sure until you tried to hook me up with Angel. It's sort of like that book about the two guys? 'A Tale of Two…Somethings.' The one guy got his head chopped off so the girl could be with the other guy. He loved her enough to give her up. To die for her."

Buffy's head tilted back, soft lips brushing against his ear. "Just like you."

The warm breath on his neck sent a fresh shiver coursing through him, but Spike was suddenly too aware of the passing time to act on it. Instead, he sighed. "Got the wrong vamp, pet. I'm not the noble, self-sacrificing one. That's Angel's gig, remember?"

As soon as the name tumbled from his lips, he silently cursed himself for a bloody pillock. Right. Every post-coital chat should include singing the praises of the ex. Why didn't he throw out a few compliments on Captain Cardboard's posture while he was at it?

Buffy pushed herself to a sitting position. "Really," she challenged, staring down at him with crossed her arms that perfectly framed her pert breasts. "I know a hellmouth that would disagree. If it could talk." She frowned. "Which it can't, of course." She squinted at him uncertainly. "Can it?" Then shrugging, she moved to straddle him, leaning down to rest her weight solidly on his chest. He stared back at her, mesmerized, as her lips grazed the exquisitely sensitive spot where his jaw joined his neck.

"Honestly? I wasn't really surprised. That you didn't let me know you were back, I mean. Mad as hell but not exactly picking my jaw up off the floor. The old you would have fought for me – fists and fangs, like you used to say. Whatever it took. This you? He gets a little confused." She tilted her head. "A little broody, even. Over-thinking things. Making big decisions that affect certain people without even asking that certain person how she felt about it. Just like another souled-up pain-in-the-ass vampire I know."

Now _there_ was a mood-killer.

"I am NOTHING like An—"

Her mouth descended on his, thoroughly kissing all inclination to protest right out of his head.

"I love you. Love you…so much," she whispered into his mouth.

A slightly hysterical giggle bubbled up in his throat and Buffy pulled back, staring quizzically.

"What?"

"You. This." Reaching up, he touched her hair, twining a strand of it around his finger. "When Angel told us all to go out and have ourselves a day to remember…never dreamed mine would turn out this way."

Her questioning look dissolved into a frown. "Oh, great. Now I don't know whether to melt into a mushy pile of goo or start worrying. What's going on?"

He drew in a deep breath. "Buffy…" His voice was gentle.

"I knew it," she declared flatly. "Why does this always happen? Just once, couldn't my timing not suck?" Collapsing beside him, her breath escaped in an annoyed whoosh. She lay silent a second, then, "Tell me."

It was his turn to sit up. "Figured Angel would've already done that."

"Well, he might have if I'd seen him. Which I haven't since I came straight from the airport. So you get to do the honors."

He blinked. "If you haven't seen anyone, how did you know where I live?"

"Andrew told me."

"Yeah. 'Cause he pops over here on a regular basis. How the bloody hell did Andrew know?"

She shrugged, a move that again pulled his gaze to her uncovered breasts. Question forgotten, he stared transfixed until she cleared her throat. His eyes jumped back to hers to find open amusement gleaming in their depths. She sat up, reaching behind her to plump the pillow as she settled herself against the headboard, all without knocking him to the floor. It was no mean feat, either, considering the narrow width of his bed.

"He called Wesley. Told him he needed your address so he could send you a Christmas card."

Keeping his gaze squarely on her face, his eyebrow rose. "In the middle of May?"

She smiled brightly. "He likes to plan ahead." The smile faded as she traced the outline of his lips. "Still waiting."

Depositing a kiss on her fingers, he moved to sit next to her, lifting his arm to gather her against him. She rested her head on his shoulder, and with a few succinct words he filled her in on Angel's plan. In general terms, of course, since he still didn't know the specifics.

By the time he'd finished, the little crinkle between her brows had made a return appearance. She looked at him in disbelief.

"That's it? That's his big plan? Throw a rock through the window and run like heck?"

"It's a bit more involved than that, pet."

"It's insane, you mean. What is he thinking? What are _you_ thinking, following blindly along with it?"

His jaw clenched. "Not blind and not followin'. Made a choice."

"A crazy choice."

He rolled his eyes. "Yeah. Right. Cazier than thinkin' a handful of bouncy teenagers with shiny new slayer powers could win out against a few hundred thousand uber-vamps?" he asked testily.

"It worked, didn't it?" she demanded.

"The _amulet_ worked! All that she-power mumbo jumbo was a waste of time _and_ lives. Could've bloody well done the whole thing without—"

The stricken look on her face cut him off in mid-tirade. It was fleeting, gone almost before he realized it, but it stopped him cold.

He spoke softly, his tone gentle. "Didn't mean it, Buffy. Was just blowin' off at you. It was bloody brilliant."

"No." She shook her head, her face taking on that pinched look he'd always hated to see. "It wasn't. I really thought it would be enough, but there were too many of them. We couldn't have held them off indefinitely. If you hadn't been there with the amulet..." Her voice trailed off as she looked away. "Instead, it was all for nothing."

"Wouldn't say that. Got slayers all over the world now, takin' care of business, yeah? Keepin' people safe. Don't have to do it all on your own anymore."

She met his gaze. "I never did." She took his hand between hers, twining their fingers together. "Thank you. For being there. You could have given up on me. I didn't make it easy for you."

He smiled faintly. "Reckon I could say the same."

"At least you had a good excuse. You were evil. I wish—"

He silenced her with a long, thorough kiss. He broke it off slowly then shook his head. "No use wishin' for things that can't be, pet. Rather we put that time and energy into the here and now."

"That's really nice. Except there won't _be_ any here and now after tonight if Angel gets his way." She bit her lip, forehead crinkling. "Giles was right. He was worried from the start that Angel would get too tight with the corporate evil. That he might get confused…lose his way. But I didn't really believe it, even though I knew we couldn't take the chance. You can't get in bed with evil and stay clean."

Her head shot up, eyes wide. "I didn't mean—"

"It's okay, I know what you meant. And you're right. Said as much m'self. But he was doin' what he thought he had to. Got sucked in but never went over, no matter what Rupert might have thought. He's a self-righteous son of a bitch with delusions of Gary Cooper-hood, but he's nobody's kept vamp, least of all Wolfram and Bloody Hart."

She stared at him. "Oh. My. God."

He frowned. "What?"

"You're defending Angel."

He glowered. "Defen--? Rubbish! No such thing. Just pointing out--"

"You are. You're defending him. Which is odd and kinda disturbing. Has hell frozen over? 'Cause I left my ice skates at home."

His jaw clenched. "I'm just _sayin'_…he's got his reasons. Somethin' you might know if you hadn't been off playing disco queen with—"

"I'm not seeing him anymore."

Spike halted, mouth half open, then shifted awkwardly and sniffed. "Seein' who?" he asked, trying to sound nonchalant.

Her sigh was exasperated. "You _know_ who. I'm not going to play this game with you. I know you were there. I know you saw us. He's history, okay? It was never serious."

Spike gave up the pretense. "Not according to Andrew," he muttered.

"Really. And would this be the same Andrew who told the potentials that Faith killed Mr. Spock?"

He blinked. "Yeah…" He squinted. "History, you say?"

"Less than that. Not even a footnote."

"Well…" Pulling her closer, he settled her head on his shoulder. "Guess that's all right then."

He felt her smile against his neck and turned his head to drop a soft kiss on her forehead.

She sighed, snuggling closer for a moment then abruptly pulled back. "How much time do we have?" Looking up at him, she frowned, nibbling on her lower lip as she seemed to mull over their situation.

He shook his head, eyes caressing her mouth. "Not enough time to send for reinforcements, love, if that's what you're thinking."

"Not a problem. And not what I meant. How much time do _we_ have."

Already he could sense dusk approaching and with it, the enforced end of their all-too-brief time together. Part of him wanted Angel to find them here like this, but part of him…didn't. Not just for Buffy's sake, either.

He squirmed uncomfortably, not willing to explore that thought too deeply.

"Not long. They'll be here soon." Head tilting back, he stared bleakly at the dingy ceiling above the bed. "Can't bloody believe I'm saying this, but you'd best get dressed now unless you've a mind to give the others an eyeful." He shifted then, about to rise, but stopped when she grasped his arm.

"Come with me."

"What?"

"To Rome. Come with me."

"Buffy…"

"Please. We can leave now. I can change my flight. We'll get tickets at the airport."

His brow arched. "And what about Angel?"

"He's being stupid. We'll hit him over the head, stick him in a crate, and ship him to England until Giles and Andrew can talk some sense into him."

Spike snorted. "Drive him round the bend, more like." He sighed. "Buffy, love…I know you don't understand why we're doin' this…"

"Spike, I understand. I just—"

"Don't agree. I get that. Thing is…it's not your place to say, one way or the other."

That stopped her cold. She stared at him, mouth agape.

His voice was gentle. "It's not your fight, Buffy. Not this time. There's nothing you can do here. Best head back. Prepare for what might come. If this thing spreads…gets out of hand…you and the other slayers will have your work cut out for you."

"If I stay here, it might not get to that point," she insisted.

The stubborn glint in her eyes sparked a familiar warmth deep inside him, and he smiled. But as he stroked her cheek, the tiny quiver of tightly compressed lips betrayed her. "You're good, slayer…the best ever. But that's no guarantee it would be enough to turn the tide. You know where your duties lay. Don't need me tellin' you."

She stared at him a few beats more before averting her gaze. "And the miracle is he didn't just haul off and deck me," she murmured.

"Come again?"

Head turning back, she met his puzzled eyes. "Angel. When I told him—" She broke off with the ghost of a pout. "Never mind. It just really _sucks_ to walk a mile in someone else's shoes."

Sighing, she slid free of his embrace to retrieve her clothes from the floor, leaving him suddenly cold and bereft, and for a brief instant he had a bleak idea of what his final moments might be like. Then she turned, and the unreserved love and pride in her gaze filled him with a sense of tremendous warmth.

He stared back. Several moments passed.

Eyes brimming, she nodded. "Yeah…know the feeling." She straightened. "Bathroom?"

He gestured with his head and watched as Buffy vanished through the door. By the time she emerged again, fully dressed, he'd pulled on his jeans and replaced his tattered t-shirt. Finger-combing her hair into place, she crossed the room, walking into his arms without hesitation. His eyes closed as her arms tightened around him and her head came to rest on his chest.

"I don't have to leave yet."

"Yeah, you do. Got to be safe away from here before it all goes down."

She pulled back slightly, looking sternly up at him. "You don't want me to see Angel."

He shrugged. "That, too."

She snorted softly then sighed. "You're really in this."

He nodded. "Really am."

"Our timing sucks."

Instead of answering, he captured her mouth in a deep, soul-searing kiss, pulling her closer as her fingernails dug hard into his shoulders. When he let her up for air, she was gasping, clutching at his shirt as their foreheads touched. Then, with a soft brush of her lips against his, she released her hold. Gaze fixed on him, she stepped back and silently retrieved her duffle bag before disappearing once more into the bathroom.

This time when she emerged, her hair was pulled back in a loose bun and her shiny lip gloss was perfectly applied. He tried to catch her eye, but she avoided his gaze, instead pausing by the chair that served as a makeshift coat rack for his duster. She reached out to caress the soft leather and he had to look down, fighting the urge to sweep her into his arms and hold her tight until they both wasted away. When he looked back, she was already at the door, with one hand resting on the knob as her eyes finally met his.

"You'll call me…when it's over? Let me know you're okay?"

He tilted his head. "Do you one better. I'll come tell you in person." He hesitated. "But just in case it takes me a bit, tell Dawn—"

"Uh-uh. At the risk of sounding like a tired old movie cliché…tell her yourself."

His gaze held hers for what seemed like forever. "Reckon I'll just have to do that, then."

She nodded, smiling faintly. Shifting her grip on the duffel bag, she opened the door and paused, looking back. "You know I love you. Right?"

A terrible, bittersweet joy assailed him. "Right," he acknowledged gravely. "Near as much as I love you."

She shook her head. "More."

Then she was gone.

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TBC in Part 6


	6. Chapter 6

**Credits: **Borrowed a bit of the dialogue here from the AtS episode "Not Fade Away."

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CHAPTER SIX (EPILOGUE)

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"Day went by fast, huh?" Gunn asked of no one in particular.

Illyria joined him as they moved toward the door. "Try not to die. You are not unpleasant to my eyes."

From his spot by the refrigerator, Spike smirked as he listened to Gunn's awkward reply.

"Uh…thanks. You…try not to die, too."

He couldn't blame the boy. The god king's less-than-stellar social skills left most of them at a loss. Of them all, only he and Wesley seemed able to relate to her. In entirely different ways, he suspected, at least as far as Illyria was concerned. The way she watched his fellow Brit was all too telling, though Percy seemed completely unaware of it.

Shame. Finding last-minute happiness in the arms of the woman who loved you was something he could highly recommend.

Closing his eyes he inhaled deeply, savoring the lingering traces of Buffy's delicate scent. It was all around him. Not even the overwhelming presence of the others could mask it. Spike glanced at Angel standing stoically a few feet away. When he'd arrived less than an hour ago, there'd been no acknowledgment. Spike didn't know if his grandsire had purposely ignored the truth that lay right under his nose, or if he'd simply been too distracted to notice. Either way, he saw no reason to bring it up. Those last hours they'd had together belonged to him and Buffy…and no one else.

In the short space of time between her departure and the return of Wes and Illyria, he'd had what felt like a lifetime to regret sending her away. But the paths they had chosen were taking them in different directions, and it wasn't right she should forsake hers to follow him. Any more than he could abandon his own, no matter how tempted he might be.

But she loved him. Nothing could take that away. Not overprotective Scoobies, pissed-off Senior Partners, or even Angel could rob him of that knowledge. Nor could pending annihilation dampen his spirits.

Buffy loved him. He loved her. And that's the way it would always be.

Even when he was no longer around to remember it.

Taking a deep breath, he moved to stand beside Angel. "What do you think all this means for that Shanshu bugaboo? We make it through this, does one us get to be a real boy?" Not that he expected or even wanted it; he'd never put that much stock in prophecy. But he'd always been one to explore the options.

Angel crossed his arms, face grim. "Who are you kidding? We're not gonna make it through."

Yeah. He'd figured as much. "Well, long as it's not you."

Angel stared straight ahead and Spike shrugged, disappointed he hadn't got a rise out of him – for old time's sake, if nothing else. "So let's go piss off the big boys, yeah?"

He hadn't quite made it to the open door when Angel's voice stopped him.

"Spike…"

Turning, he found the other's gaze locked on him intently.

"Is she gone?"

So he had noticed. "Yeah."

"Good." Angel paused, then, "Did she…say anything?"

A dozen possible answers ran through his head, none of them even halfway kind.

"What do _you_ think? She was worried about you, of course. Wanted to know how you were. Wanted to help. You know how she is. Told her the best thing she could do was head over to England. Get the troops ready in case things don't work out here."

Angel studied him, his expression impossible to read. "Can't imagine she took that well."

Spike shrugged. "Better than I would've expected. Reckon she's a might less hard-headed than she used to be."

Angel didn't respond. Spike gestured toward the door. "Best be gettin' on with it, right? Show those Senior Partners just how big a headache two soul-having vamps can be."

It seemed he'd found the magic words. Angel shook off whatever mood had grabbed him, squaring his shoulders. "Yeah. Let's go kick some demon butt."

He brushed past Spike, forcing him to step back, then paused in the doorway without turning around. "One more thing. Thanks. And…not just for sticking around."

Spike froze, eyeing Angel's back suspiciously. Then, slowly, he nodded. "Welcome."

Oddly enough, no lightning bolt from the blue arrived to strike them down. But if they somehow managed to survive the night, he didn't think they'd be testing their luck again anytime soon.

As Angel disappeared up the stairs, Spike took a last look around the sparse apartment – a once-barren place now filled with the best memories of his life. Shoving his hands deep into the pockets of his leather duster, he raised his chin in a final silent salute.

And froze as he felt the crinkled paper against his left hand.

Extracting the note from his pocket, he carefully unfolded it. When he finished reading it, he didn't know whether to laugh or swear.

"Why you stubborn little…"

_Spike,_

_Remember all those times I told you to go away and you wouldn't? Payback's a bitch._

_Don't start the battle without me._

_Love you, _

_Buffy_

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FIN


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